Forced to Forget
by chaste-aeon
Summary: Hermione Granger was mindconditioned: she was given a new life as a Death Eater, a new identity under the name Meredith Reynolds. 3 years later, the Great War was nowhere near its end. Meredith suddenly feels something is missing from her life. Dhr! R n R
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all the characters you will recognize. No profit is gained.

A/N: This is the prologue. And, hopefully, this is the only section of the story where-in... torture or such literary devices will be used. If, however, something comes up, you'll all be warned. The next chapters will be shorter than the usual chapters I write for "Irrational Revelations". Simply because it's part of the suspense, and I'm making something new. In totality --as far as I can see it, if I might add-- this fic will be filled with romance and... sarcasm. So yes, the style and content you will be reading in this prologue isn't the actual style I'll be using for the whole fiction. Check it out.

People have told me this chapter is equally "disturbing" but "cool". I'm not sure I agree with the latter one as it definitely resides in personal opinion and the word is pretty vague, but I find the former true. See, there's this three italicized lines... Well, let me just remind you, this will be the only chapter (until chapter eight) , so far, that I could see having this kind of similar content. I would appreciate it if I would get some kind of feedback for this context (since it's my first time), and for the later chapters. :)

**WARNING: There are references of 'non-consentual' in this prologue: three dialogue lines, to be specific. The prologue DOES NOT necessarily need to be read. You can continue to the next chapters as long as you know that Hermione is mind-conditioned and that she has a new identity: Meredith Reynolds.**

* * *

Hermione Granger dropped her throbbing forehead to her scarred hands. _Let me thank the Death Eaters for that_. 

She closed her eyes, concentrating on something –_anything­—_but the sharp incessant thump she could feel on the back of her head.

_Where the hell is it?_

Drip.

_There_.

Trickle.

Run.

Drip. Drip.

Run. Trickle.

Drip. Trickle.

She managed to smile grimly, her lips cracked and bleeding. No matter how deep their Death Eater cells were situated underneath the earth, water was sure to be around. _Thank God for that_. It provided her a distraction—a distraction against the inevitable.

The truth was she didn't know _why_ they have kept here this long. Eighteen days, eleven hours, forty-six minutes and ticking.

They only tortured her thrice. Pure torture. There was no negotiation, no demand. Just pure twisted torture accompanied by sadistic laughter. And when she thought everything was over, it suddenly became too personal for her to stomach.

_Too personal, too intimate._

The Death Eaters were sordid, inhuman creatures.

When she studied World History independently, she was shocked to believe that humans were actually capable of subjecting other humans to numerous atrocities. She threw up after. She knew they happened, but it was hard getting past the word 'history' and relating it to 'reality'. What happened to her was reliving history.

Boy, was she lucky, she thought sarcastically.

One of the great many reasons they happened was racism. The others, _hell_, were just for the heck of it. The torture, the rape, was pretty much _just for the heck of it._ They haven't done anything crucial to undermine or sabotage Harry's forces. _What are they truly up to?_

_Oh God!_

"_Oh... ah-h. Swweet Merlin!" _

"_She's a good fuck. Suckle her nipples; you'll hear her moaning like an animal. Just the way she is."_

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images to go away.

"_When I pound on her, I want her tight. Do something about it when I return. Understood?"_

"_Bitch, mudblood. You see now do you? Scream for me!"_

The sounds to go away.

_Please._

Drip.

_There_.

Trickle.

Run.

Drip. Drip.

Run. Trickle.

Drip. Trickle.

She was breathing harder and harder by each second. She flung her head back to the wall, hitting herself none too gently.

A silent hiss of pain; she welcomed it.

Maybe she could choose between the pain and the images. She'd _choose_ pain instead. Maybe she can die _from_ the pain. No. They wouldn't allow her to die; they made that perfectly obvious with the various examinations. They made sure that no matter how hurt she was, she would survive. She was alive for a reason, she thought despicably.

Maybe to lure Harry.

_Oh, Merlin._

The heavy metal door opened, its hinges making a loud scraping sound against the floor. Hermione shied away from the light quickly, covering her already shut eyes. It was already a reflex. It was pathetic. She couldn't even stand light anymore. Was she even still human?

She felt hands grip her arms tightly; she was sure there were already numerous hand prints on what used to be unmarred skin. Great, now she was being vain. It was so unlike her at all. She was losing sanity.

"Bring her to the Conditioning Center." A snap of impatience. "Quick!"

She was shoved back to the brass chair which made her wince. "W-what d-do-..." she tried to rasp.

"Good afternoon, Miss Meredith Reynolds."

She tried to shoot the person her most quelling look. And failed. "H-Hermione Gra-nger's my name."

"Miss Meredith Reynolds, please repeat your given name."

"H-herm— _ahh!"_ she screamed violently. The sound so raw, it hurt just listening to it.

Something was- no, it can't be an electric chair! It was- it was muggle! Oh right, lest she forget that Voldermort was half-blood.

A voice laughed, cold, cruel, calculating. "Ah, music to my ears," it whispered softly. "Miss Reynolds, please, as much as I _love_ hearing your angelic screams," it paused, "I would appreciate it if you acknowledge your new identity." It purred, "Utter something intelligible. It's what you do best, I hear, besides, of course, relieving us of our sexual frustrations."

Hermione kicked viciously, struggling against the chains and binds. "_Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"_

"I believe we've surpassed that." The laughter continued, filling the entire room.

"_Nox." _And light was disengaged.

"Watch, Miss Reynolds. Your very life will be unfolding before you," it said pleasantly, a dagger on silk, ripping it. Treacherous.

A video was suddenly played. What the fuck were they playing at?

Oh.

It was her, her, her.

Hermione's eyes widened before she forced them shut. "Noo—_arghh_—_ahhhh_!"

"Well, yes, this will be playing forever."

"Son of a---_biah!" _Convulsions claimed her.

Another voice whispered lowly, "This will take a while. Do everything here. _Everything. _Make her forget, then make her learn."

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A/N::wince:: I hope you guys aren't disturbed. That's why I had the first A/N added-- as a caution to you guys. Review and tell me what you think. 


	2. Chapter One

A/N: Sorry for the little _switcharoo _that happened. Thanks though to LittleBlackSwan who called my attention, or else... Anyway, to those new guys reading this story, hope you enjoy!

EDIT: I am profusely thanking runeenigma for pointing out some causes of confusion, for improving the emphasis and strength of the some statements, and for calling attention to some typos. You rock! J

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"_What?"_ Meredith asked, annoyed. 

Theo knew that look of hers. It spelled trouble. Gulping, he said shakily, "I-I need help."

"Look, _Nott,_" she snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy?" she said with deliberate harshness.

Theo closed his eyes, took an unsteady breath. "They're going to kill me, all right? I need help!"

Meredith gathered her long black straight hair and manoeuvred a chopstick to hold it in place. "They can't kill you, Theo. They have no plans of raiding any of our bases as of yesterday. Just stay here, if you want. You'll be safe."

"I'm not talking about _their_ side! I'm talking about ours!" he cried, his eyes troubled.

Oh boy. This was a big one. Meredith dropped her quill carefully, making a show of it, before fastening her eyes on Theo. "What do you mean?"

"I-I was seen with a muggle," he stumbled with his words. When Meredith only raised a perfectly arched brow, Theo elaborated. "I have a relationship with him."

"Goodness, Theo!" Meredith reacted. "You have a _thing_ for men? Well, it's not unusual anymore, but I didn't peg you for the type," she murmured.

When she didn't say anything else, Theo placed his palms on her desk, leaning on it.

Meredith sighed. "Look, just get rid of _it._" She pushed Theo's hands.

Theo didn't know whether she referred to _it_ as the muggle or the relationship. Either way, it didn't matter, because he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Couldn't?" Meredith suddenly repeated. She looked him at the eyes. "Or wouldn't?"

Damn Meredith and her _legilimens_ skill.

"I heard that," she remarked, amused.

Theo ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I couldn't, wouldn't— what's the difference?" he said hastily. "I _love _him." _That _put a stop at whatever Meredith was doing. "_I_ love him," Theo repeated with more emotion.

"What do you want me to do?" Meredith asked quietly.

Theo took the sit across her desk and sagged. "Come on, Mer. We know you're the one who deals with these things. You're his _most_ loyal servant," he said with emphasis, and a scowl.

"And yet you come to me."

"We've been partners, Mer. I think I _know_ you." He paused, hesitant. "It's just some of us aren't like you? You- you're different. Don't you get tired of- of _everything_? I want out. I want to live. I don't want to kill anymore. J-just make it stop. _Please._" The deep need in Theo's words moved her. What he said was true. She was different, she knew, but she thought she hid it well.

"You think _you_ _know _me?" her voice calm.

"There's something about you. I sense it. I could _feel_ it. Heck, I _know_ it." He dropped his head. "I don't know what exactly, but I know there is... _something._ I should know, right? I'm the resident psychologist," he muttered sarcastically. "It's just that you're efficient. _Too _efficient. You're cold when you need to be. You can distance yourself. You're- you're too perfect. You-"

"When I get the order, I want you to disappear. Get new identities. Don't use your wand at any cost. Only use wandless magic in zones thick with magic, so nobody can trace you, all right? I'll report that I've disposed of you. Understood?" she concluded in a clipped tone.

Theo nodded and was relieved. "Thank you, Mer. I owe you big time." He stood up and gave her a gratified smile.

"Make sure I don't claim that. Or else you're dead."

Meredith sat back against her chair and massaged her temples when Theo's soft voice from the doorframe said, "You know, you remind me of someone from my year. In Hogwarts. She was perfect. Just like you." And then he was gone.

The cryptic remark left Meredith envious of whoever that person was, because as far as Meredith was concerned, she would never be perfect. And _that_ someone already was.

Perfect. Meredith wasn't perfect. She was _far_ from perfect. She knew, _oh,_ she knew, because, she felt a part of her life was missing. A phantom hole she knew that existed, but couldn't see or indentify. And as long as that _hole _existed, she knew she could never be happy.

Happiness. Theo wanted to be happy. Killing people was never a problem for her. She never once hesitated killing anyone—whether in the heat of the battle or in cold blood. It was _never_ a problem. It was as if _to kill_ was a command encoded into her system, to be able to execute precise and efficient kills. Killing people was never the actual obstacle towards her happiness. It was an effect of her unhappiness.

It had hurt, really hurt, when Theo spoke of love, because in her whole life she had never felt the feeling; it hit straight into the eye. She never felt love, not even once. Or if she did, it was buried so deeply in her memories, that even through deep probing, she would get nowhere near it.

Suddenly she closed her eyes, slowly threw her head back, and clenched her jaw. "_Ahhh," _she moaned, as she felt the searing pain of the Dark Mark.

It was time to get back to work.

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A/N: Tell me what you think! Read and Review! Thanks:) 


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: This is third POV, but under Draco's. This was just supposed to be a filler chapter, until I made it into something more... You'll see, so read. :)

So, rileycharms, candyrose1428, yocum1219:), and crazedfan, thank you so much for your reviews. You guys are the reason why I've have already written the drafts until chapter eight, and why I feel so inspired to write. (The thing is, I have never posted a new chapter every day, much less be _this_ excited in the process!) I hope you keep on reading, and that I don't disappoint you guys. Your reviews and your vocal appreciation of my fic are really really really cherished.

Edited: 04/12/07 -- runeenigma's comments.

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One by one cloaked and domino-masked men and women entered the cave. Silent, passive.

The runes were old, but not dilapidated. The goblet was a dull shade of gold, dusty, and filthy like the rest of the Death Eaters, Draco observed with a dry smile.

Draco Malfoy wanted to sleep, and he could actually, with the thick hood and mask that covered his face. He yawned.

The sea of black was moving, parting for someone. The Dark Lord?

Someone bumped his shoulders, and it took an inch of his discipline to not grab the offending person's cloak and not curse the said person to oblivion. Said person didn't even apologize. Well, then again, if the said person was Draco Malfcoy, he wouldn't have bothered either. The thing was, the said person wasn't Draco Malfoy. Which explained everything.

He was still the arrogant son-of-a-bitch prick that he was. Normal mothers would tell their daughters to stay away from him; blood-sucking mothers would tell their daughters to drug his drink, sleep with him, and get themselves knocked up. Unfortunately for them (fortunately for Draco) they didn't succeed. For all his worth, he hadn't actually changed— well, to most people. He had, after all, a reputation to maintain.

The change in air told Draco that _their_ Dark Lord was there. He sighed silently, putting on a cap on his attitude for once and headed straight towards the front.

"_Malfoy,"_ a soft voice rang. "Welcome back." _Well, yes, I'm not glad to be back. _

"Thank you, My Lord," Draco responded with faux reverence. _Jack ass_. It was a good thing that the Dark Lord loved challenges. He ordered that every DE master Occlumency or else suffer the consequence of going bananas. Draco was actually glad for the order, at least he didn't need to find an excuse to shield his mind from Voldemort's slimy mental hands, or whatever they called it.

"I put it you found... some interesting information about... the different societies outside Wizarding Britain?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good, good," he waved absently, silently dismissing Draco, who stepped back after bowing, almost kissing the ground.

"Bellatrix, are you... having difficulties?"

For as long as Draco remembered, there had never been a more boring and uneventful evening." Later, after everything was over, he was going to drink one hell of a great-tasting coffee.

"Draco Malfoy is back and with his return comes... our most awaited celebration for the year. Gather your _mudbloods_, and we shall feast!" He almost jumped when he heard his name mentioned.

Then when Voldemort's words sank, Draco could just feel an awful sensation settling at the bottom of his stomach. _Mudblood virgins._

The Dark Lord raised his left hand and declared, "Until we meet again, my _Death Eaters_."

Draco was about to turn and finally leave when his _master_'s voice stopped him. "Draco," he said like a caress. Draco fought not to shudder. "Stay. We... shall talk about something."

Within the next two seconds, Draco, behind his mask a raised brow, was in front of Voldemort. _What in Circe's name is this wacko up to?_

"Meredith, my child, where are you?"

A similarly cloaked figure emerged.

"Father," an utterly feminine voice floated to his ear.

So it _was_ true. Voldemort had a _daughter_. This must be the very secretive Meredith Reynolds, of whose existence, only a few people knew. Nobody truly knew where she came from and what she was—whether she was conjured from Hades, a walking corpse, or even an ancient vampire. There was a rumor that was shared between the select few who were fortunate enough to have heard of her that Voldemort had saved her from death. From exactly what kind, Draco didn't know. She was notorious for her precision in killing, her unwavering loyalty, and a quick mind partnered with unheard coldness. Her voice... was young, sexy, _familiar._ Still, anyone, could use Voice Charms. She might already be a hag, for all Draco knew, and she's been screwing Voldemort ever since. Draco immediately regretted entertaining the thought.

"There is news of the young Theodore Nott who has gone traitor. Have you... heard?" his voice glided like silk, smooth, soft, graceful. Totally unlike him, Draco mused.

Draco could see Meredith's perfect teeth, gleaming. "Why_ of course_, Father. In fact, the _traitor_ asked help from me. I told him to hide."

Draco's amusement faded.

_What? She told him to hide? Was she bloody insane? And how did Nott know her?_

Before he could think further questions, the Dark Lord laughed with delight, cruel, rich. Oh, insane minds think alike, Draco wryly qouted. He shook his head and said, "Very good. Very good, my child. I trust you will enjoy this?"

"I will, Father. Of course I will."

Draco scoffed; now he knew what was going to happen. She was going to play cat-and-mouse with Nott. How despicable. What better way to have fun with the prey than to make them believe that they have reached their sanctuary, safe from any harm. Meredith Reynolds was insidious, all right. Draco would hand it to her.

Voldemort turned to him, and he could swear he felt an gauche sensation along his arm."Draco, you have stood loyal beside me since your birth. And I deem it fit that you shall be rewarded." Oh. Sure. _Should I be grateful or scared? _

Draco made no sound, the Dark Lord hated being interrupted.

Voldemort continued. "And I give you my... daughter."

Draco's heart stopped cold, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Father?" came Meredith's soft question, a hint of...shock. So, Meredith didn't know.

"Yes, my _daughter_. I believe that Draco and you are... powerful and skilled. What better way to ensure your heritage lives on than to commit yourself to another powerful... individual? Both of you hold great promise. And I would... appreciate it if you _consider _this _request_."

Meredith's and Draco's voice at the same time responded, "Yes, My Lord."

He was being asked to marry this-_this _bitch! _Of all the arro-_

"Meredith, take of your cloak and your mask. Let... Draco see you. After all, only a few had been deemed worthy to... witness your _beauty._"

Meredith complied, pulled the hood back and dropped the white mask to the floor, her straight black hair flowing. She raised her face and met Draco's eyes.

Brown to Grey. There was a brief moment when a strong current was shared between the two, until suddenly, it was as if Draco was punched at the gut, robbing him of his breath, and for the life of him, he could neither move nor think. He stood transfixed to her chocolate eyes. _Utterly familiar._

Again, a laugh resonated throughout the cave. "She is beautiful, is she not?" Voldemort whispered.

Draco stared at the woman, reliving past memories.

"_I love you, Draco. Promise me you won't leave me." _

Draco closed his eyes and nodded, not trusting his voice. The bitch was beautiful, and reminded him vaguely of someone who was dead for three years.

Hermione Granger.

Well, this was interesting.

What a perfect gift the _son-of-a-bitch _gave him.

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A/N: So how's that? It wasn't that bad, or was it::fearful:: Tell me what you think. I seriously like the next chapter better. ::laughs:: 

And if _anyone_ knows _someone_ who can be my _beta_ since I seriously have none. Or if anyone is interested, please message me. :)


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: I received the corrected version from BlueIrishEyes (Thanks! She saw what I missed!!! Yey!) yesterday but didn't have enough time to upload it. And since I got home past 12 last night, I decided to postpone the posting instead. After all, I still wasn't sure with a part of this chapter. I had to a second opinion about something. laughs

* * *

If people who were familiar with the history shared by the three men in the room, happened to witness this... _gathering_, then _astonishment_ would be their first reaction, followed by self-infliction of pain —a painful slap on the cheek, piercing of the skin until blood is drawn, or, for the more masochistic, a request of a Crucio aimed towards them— to ensure whether what they were seeing was actually true and not a figment of their imagination, followed by a deep, insatiable curiosity as to why these three men were in the same room and not trading _Unforgivables._

It could have easily made headlines in _The Daily Prophet_. Fortunately for these three men, no one actually knew, besides themselves, of their current _relationship._ Or else there would be dire consequences.

"When you put it that way, _Potter,_ then no, I _won't _marry her," Draco's voice came, irritated.

Ronald Weasley was the one who spoke up, levitating three food trays towards the dining table. "Afraid of the Reynolds bitch, then? _I _should have known."

Draco gritted his teeth, opened his mouth before someone beat him to it.

"I thought you found her _interesting."_ Harry was sporting an amused look as he materialized from the kitchen of the Grimmauld Place.

"Don't forget b-e-a-utiful!" Ron quipped, conjuring utensils.

"If_ you_ like her so much, then why don't _you_ marry her!" Draco retorted hotly, huffing and leaning back on his chair. Damn Potty and the Weasel. Draco ignored the fact that he wasn't exactly doing anything, except pouting prettily. _Hey, I am pretty._

Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, or rather the-man-who-lived, sighed heavily, discarding a wet towel from his hands. "Look, Draco, you know how important this would be. She's, what did you say?"

"The royal concubine who sucks and kisses both the prick and ass of her Father," Draco supplied absently, flicking a nonexistent dirt speck from his coat.

Ron rolled his eyes and sat down. "How do you know that? You didn't even meet her until a while ago!"

Draco glared at him; he didn't like the fact that the Weasley was suddenly keen on things one bit. "Thanks to you," Draco admonished sarcastically.

Harry coughed. "No, Draco. _Thanks to you._ Because if it weren't for you, we wouldn't have any source within their circle." Harry held up a hand, fixing his glasses.

"After Severus' cover was blown, we had to depend on you. Unfortunately, you haven't actually brought any big news from your boss with you away overseas for the past three years. Good thing we still have the Parkinsons, but they aren't very high-ranking. Unlike you."

"_I _was with _you_, Potter! At every ambush, at every attack, I was with you! I risked my life, my cover, by actually being with you instead of having fun with exotic Asians or bar hopping 24/7!" Draco exploded. He never thought he'd be using the words 'I' and 'you' in one sentence when it concerned a certain St. Potter.

"So, this is why you're mad," Ron maturely observed, taking a sip of butterbeer. "I thought you didn't do muggle-borns?" he then remarked innocently.

Draco sent him a rude gesture and a glower.

"Enough!" Harry's voice interrupted their banter. "Look, Draco," -he focused his attention on the blond- "The fact is-"

"The fact is," Draco interrupted, spearing what looked like fried fish from his plate, "she's a total _bitch_. She's the fucking _perfect _Death Eater! She's his _daughter!_ She could bring you to orgasm with just a word or a look, and then the next second, you see your prick severed!" He shuddered. "Marrying her would just blow my cover," he concluded ominously. "Hey, as much as I want to play three-some, I can't do it everyday!"

Harry didn't respond, and certainly didn't jog back to Malfoy's sentence that had the word 'orgasm' or throw it back at him.

"And I thought Draco Malfoy could do anything," Ron, on the other hand, commented dryly. "I guess I was mistaken."

Draco ignored Ron's comment. "All I know is that she _is_ the best strategist, _next to me._ And she's like this... traitor-detector among the Death Eaters. Sort of like an ombudsman, if you follow me."

"Can't you put a hold over her or something? I mean, if you do get married, she has to be loyal to you, right? Can't you use that to your advantage?" Harry inquired, dipping the fillet in tartar sauce.

"Can't say for sure, Potter." Draco shrugged, skipping the third fraction of the tray, not knowing and understanding what exactly was in it. "I haven't really had any _tete-a-tete_ with her yet as you know, so I can't really say how she's going to react." He chewed what he thought looked like chicken, but tasted and felt like rubber. Was this even cooked? Draco thought.

Draco dropped his ankles from the next chair and patted his black slacks, standing up. He sipped the coffee and made a sour expression, then he turned towards what was left of the Golden Trio and said, "Can't say I didn't enjoy my time with you, boys. And next time," he called over his shoulders, "don't use _those_ coffee beans. It tastes absolutely disgusting. And what was with the _chicken?_" With that, he disapparated. _Crack!_

"Git," muttered Ron as he reached Malfoy's mug took a sip of the coffee. His face twisted, his mouth spitting the liquid. "For once, he's right! _This is disgusting!"_

"That wasn't a chicken. It was _frog's leg_, with its _skin_!" Harry announced, at which a chewed frog's leg was discharged from Ron's mouth. Harry chuckled. "Why don't you buy new beans then?"

"Nah!" Ron waved a hand. "I'm sure Malfoy would bring his _own_ beans the next time he visits. It'll be imported—from some _exotic Asian island_," Ron mimicked.

They both laughed before the sparkles in their eyes faded, and they were left with a diminished light, haunted, tired. "I miss Hermione, Ron. She loved frog's legs, and even had a special recipe for it," Harry whispered.

"I know, mate. I know," Ron said in a similar miserable tone.

"It's just that... I don't think she's dead, Ron. I just don't believe it..."

Ron knew how his best friend felt. Losing Hermione was like losing a part of their soul. They would never be complete again. But three years was enough to mourn for her.

As if reading the red-haired's thought, Harry said softly, "She's not dead. _She's not dead_. Voldemort is hiding her. _Somewhere_."

"But Malfoy has searched every cell!" Ron protested quietly. "He said there's nothing. _Nothing_."

"That's because Draco isn't just the right-hand man."

Ron looked at his mate, puzzled. "I don't get you at all, Harry. Malfoy _is_ Voldemort's right-hand man."

Harry shook his head. "He has a _daughter_, remember?"

And it suddenly dawned on Ron. "Sh-she might know where Hermione is," Ron whispered, shocked.

Harry nodded and inspected the maroon draperies in the house. After three years Ron finally got it. They needed to capture Meredith Reynolds. She might be the key to Hermione's whereabouts. And Hermione might be the key to their victory, Harry knew it. He could feel it. He knew she was alive, somewhere. And they have to find her. Now more than ever. He knew the end was near.

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A/N: The frog legs was pretty weird, but I had to think of an odd food that Hermione loved... which Ron and Harry would comment on after Draco left. BlueIrishEyes suggested sweat bread (mixed with animal brains) which is eaten in Britain, but I couldn't come up with a way that would allow me to incorporate it in the chapter. 

So, anyway, how did you like the chapter? Was it.. so-so, funny, not bad, all right? Send me adjectives:)


	5. Chapter Four

"I told you," Meredith repeated. "He already knows that you're fraternizing with the... _enemy_."

Ron could hear her revolted tone, particularly with the last word. He sighed silently, patiently waiting. Now, normally, he wasn't an enduring person, but _this_ was crucial. If he wasn't able to capture Meredith Reynolds, then they might not have any hope of finding Hermione ever again.

_God, _Hermione. He silently banged his head on Meredith's wall.

Theo looked pale. "Uh, so, when will you tell him I'm-I'm dead?"

Ron was suddenly alert. _What are they going on about? _

"As soon as you get out of my flat," she snapped. "As far as they know, _I _gave you a head-start, and that sooner or later I'll find you. They believe I'm in this for the thrill of the hunt," she added wryly.

"And you aren't," Theo said, although it came out as a question. His gaze alternated between Meredith and the mug that he was holding. He really was nervous.

Ron could see Theo's expression. Merlin, he looked spooked. Ron shifted his balance to his left foot. _Damn, _he still couldn't see what Meredith looked like. Her voice though was very familiar: bossy. He snorted internally. Most of the women he knew were bossy, including his sister Ginny. Ronald Weasley thought that this streak of dominance in women started when they were permitted to vote, well, at least in the Muggle World. Nothing truly explained why most women he knew — pureblood, half-blood, muggle— in the Wizarding World were plain bossy.

"Theo, if you're worried about me hunting you, I'm telling you right now that I won't hunt you down," Meredith stated calmly, unknowingly breaking Ron's trail of thoughts.

Theo managed a shaky nod. "It's just-"

"What happened to _you_, anyway? You _weren't_ like this before. You didn't act like a _sissy_," she asked absently, opening her refrigerator and grabbed a Perrier.

Ron winced. This Meredith person sure was tactless. And bossy, he reminded himself. The fact that she said it like it weighed nothing was even worse, Ron supposed.

"I'm not afraid _for my_ life." He paused, then looked Meredith in the eye. "I'm afraid for _his. _Because he won't be able to protect himself if something happens."

Ron grinned after not hearing a reply. That proclamation of Theo sure shut the Reynolds' trap. _Serves you right_, _know-it-all_.

Meredith's face grew grim; inside, she was tense. She didn't like where her conversations with Theo always headed. "If that's what happens when you fall in love, then I wouldn't want to experience it," she said, feigning boredom. "It sounds as if it sucks."

Ron couldn't believe this woman. _Love sucks? _It was just what a scientific, focused person would say. And Ron couldn't believe it when his brain suddenly thought of Hermione. _She's nothing like this woman. This, this one's a cold-blooded killer. Emotionless, passionless— or rather, shows passion only when she kills. And _that_ is no where near Hermione. _

"Trust me, Mer. You're missing the focal point in life if you miss this."

Meredith laughed, almost cruelly, painful, shaking her head; then she stopped and sighed, pursing her lips. "Right. Come on, Theo, you want to be there with him _this instant_ if you don't want anything happening to him." She pulled him from the sofa and pushed him towards the fireplace. "Go. _Shoo._ I don't ever want to_ see_ you again, all right?"

She wasn't a bitch at all, Ron observed, confused. Then something caught his attention. _Hogwarts: A History—_first edition, second edition, Slughooks edition, Dummies edition. Ron stood transfixed. There were more than twelve copies of various editions lined in the shelf. He knew from Draco that Meredith Reynolds was as old as they were. But he couldn't remember the name Meredith Reynolds in the Hogwarts' Student Registry, much less as his school mate. If _she _weren't a student in Hogwarts, then _why_ did she have a whole collection of _Hogwarts: A History_ that would make Hermione drool? _Hermione_, oh bollocks!

"What are you doing here?" he heard a voice directed at him. _Oh, shit. _Double trouble.

"Turn around," she ordered, and he could feel her calculating eyes on him, burning a hole in his head.

Ron could also feel her wand aimed at his head. He swallowed a lump of fear. He wasn't supposed to be ambushed; he just wasn't good with these things, but he could admit that he was only good at rushing into battle. He certainly wasn't prepared for something like this. And he certainly didn't need Meredith Reynolds dead. It would defeat his whole purpose of being here.

_Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! _

He barely heard a _"Confundo!" _hit him when what he saw after he turned nearly gave him a heart attack. _It couldn't be_!

_"Stupefy!" _and then a loud _thump _was heard; Ron fell.

Meredith's heart started beating fast. _What had happened? She wasn't usually impulsive. _

She felt something when he saw her._ There was a recognition of some sort_. A jolt even. _Dear Lord._

Suddenly she heard someone pass through the fireplace. "Meredith, the connection was open and—"

Draco thought the muggle flat Meredith was living in was cool. Spacious, comfortable, personalized. His gaze wandered over to the woman he came here for, and then he stopped dead. "Weasley?"

_Weasley? Ronald Weasley?_ Meredith asked herself, for once stumped. Why would _he_ be at her apartment? And _how_ did he know where she lived?

Draco stared at Ron, his eyes glued on his fellow comrade, and said carefully, "What was he doing in your apartment?"

Meredith turned to him cautiously, then shrugged, trying to appear laid-back. "My thoughts exactly."

Sighing internally, Draco crossed the floor and leaned toward Ron before he sniffed. "Merlin, he _smells_." _Sorry, Ronald._

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Don't be too rude, Malfoy."

Draco twisted his neck, paused, then said, "Call me Draco." For a good measure, he smiled what he hoped was a sexy smile. _God, God, God. Have to contact Potter. _

It was Meredith's turn to stare, amused. At least she looked amused, Draco convinced himself. "Okay, are you actually hitting on me?" She grabbed two champagne glasses and _accio_'d a Merlot 1876.

"That depends what your definition of 'hitting' is." He sauntered towards her, opened the bottle with ease and poured. _That would do very well for my nerves. Thank Merlin. _He handed her a glass and said seductively, "To Ronald Weasley. Our prey for the night." He hoped he wasn't rusty with his social skills, and definitely his ability to look calm when he was panicking as hell.

Meredith smiled, and she hoped it really looked sincere. Good thing she had wine somewhere in her flat. _It would do her nerves good._ "To Ronald Weasley and the Dark Lord."

* * *

A/N: All right, just a message to everyone... if you don't like short chapters, then I think you'd just be pissed with this story since most of these chapters are --and will be-- short. So, there would be a change in perspective-focus every chapter, or at least, almost every chapter. 

Thanks to BlueIrishEyes, again, for going through this. :) Big thanks. So, the flirt was pretty sudden. I have to admit that as well, but, see, the thing is, Draco's panicking. So he _had_ to do something-- stall, divert, whatever. So, I thought of this. If this came quite as a shock, you'll be shock with the eight chapter. Yep. lol

So review, I'm just asking for at least eight reviews per chapter (nice, if it exceeds), exactly like in the second to the fourth chapter. Guys, it won't take you a minute to tell me what you think; two minutes, if you spot something wrong; three minutes, if you spot some typo and suggest something. Seriously, I'd like you guys to be part of this story... by suggesting and by inspiring. :)

Yes, thanks to adrianna100, peanut18, candyrose1428, rileycharms, Reticents, LittleBlackSwan, BlueIrishEyes, yocum1219 for taking the time to review the last chapter! Adrianna100, peanut18, reticents, welcome aboard! And I hope you enjoy the what's to come. :)

Oh yeah, check out the C2 I'm staffing called, _Sophistication: The Dramione_. I brought in some very popular fics there, if you haven't read them, go now. Oh, by the way, check out, _A Dithering Fortuity by peanut18_. It's a good read.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five **

A/N:  
Setting: Meredith's flat.

A thing to note: Two-way communicator, disguised as a compact mirror, which would allow any two persons (or people who have the device) to communicate with each other. **  
**

* * *

"Potter!" Draco hissed. "What the fuck is _Weasley_ doing _here_— at _Reynold's_ flat?" 

Harry's reflection appeared on the small compact mirror Draco held. Harry gave Draco one in moments such as these-- in moments that they crucially needed to have contact with each other. He looked anxious; he ran a hand across his hair. "Is he all right? Where's Reynolds?"

"What do you mean _'Is he all right?_' _Potter, _your _bloody insane mate_ might actually _die_ in the next few minutes! He's freakin' here, about to have an _audience_ with fucking Voldemort! Am I the only one who's bothered by what may _happen_? _We are talking about Voldemort_! You know, the ugly thing that tried to kill you when you were a kid? Only he _fucking_ failed. But twenty years later, which is _now_, if you haven't forgotten, he's still up to the task!" he whispered harshly, without once breathing. "God, Potter. I don't know what to do!" Damn, he was nervous as hell. Talk about understatements!

"Where's Reynolds?" Harry insisted stubbornly.

"Why the _fuck_ do you care about her? She's dead! I _killed_ her! _Happy now_?" Draco retorted hotly.

Harry paled. "She-she's dead?" Oh, no. Hermione would never be found!

Upon seeing Harry's white complexion, Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course she's not dead,_ idiot_! Do you think I would have said what I said about Weasley having an audience with Voldemort if she's dead? She's in the house doing what females do best— I don't know..." Draco trailed off, annoyed.

"What about _Ron_? Can't you do anything? Save him? Apparate him or something? _Anything!"_ Harry pleaded. "I've already _lost Hermione_; I can't lose _Ron as well_, do you_ hear_ me, Malfoy?" He was breathing hard, his eyes wide. He couldn't lose Ron, Harry thought desperately. He just couldn't. It had been hard without Hermione— no more SPEW (S.P.E.W., Harry corrected himself, lamely mimicking Hermione's voice, almost on the brink of depression); no more _"I told you so!"; _no more random books left in the different rooms at Grimmauld Place.

Losing Ron now would be exactly like _suicide_; he won't be able to handle the pressure nor the stress. Chess would only serve as a painful reminder; a reminder as to how _he_ was the _main cause_ of his friends' deaths! If he didn't voice out his stupid suggestion on questioning Reynolds, this wouldn't have happened. He just couldn't continue doing this— everything! He might just barge into Voldemort's creepy lair the second he learns of Ron's death. If he were lucky, he'll wait for a full minute before sending himself to a suicidal mission.

On the other side, Draco leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down. It would be really bad if Reynolds heard him shouting. Reynolds thinking that Draco was insane wasn't really his _major_ problem. In fact, Draco would absolutely love for her to think that he _was_ insane, rather than she think that he _was_ communicating with Potter— which was actually what _was_ happening. He took another calming breath.

Overreacting wasn't going to help anyone, less so an unconscious Ron. True, he wasn't _best buds_ with the Weasel, but Draco didn't want to see him die a senseless death. He took three deep breaths before putting on a bravado for Potter. "I'm not sure, Potter. Reynolds might handle the execution. If she does, Ron's no good," he concluded cautiously, consciously aware of the effect of his words to Harry. At least one of them needed to be clear-headed.

"What if _I_ go there save Ron?" Harry suddenly said, bolting up straight from one of the ledges of the stairs. Mrs. Black's portrait, for once, inaudible.

Draco cursed before exploding; a vein in his neck already throbbing. Oh, why couldn't he ever be emotionally detached when it concerned the bloody Golden Trio? Even when they were in school, Draco was always itching to hex the two. Now that they were grown adults, the need to scratch did not disappear— maybe because he knew thousands and thousands of lives depended on what was left of the Triumvirate.

_Triumvirate._

They used to be three. And now, it's just the superhero and his loyal sidekick— no more girl wonder. A lot _had_ changed after Hermione's death. Draco, who was late in realizing the importance and power of true friendships, knew that if bloody Ronald Weasley dies in the next ten minutes, then Harry Potter dies with him. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. And the whole world follows after.

After spending a couple of years with the two boys, Draco knew what to expect. Potter would first lose his mind, blaming himself for his friend's death. A person who could not control his mental capacities was a liability. Next, from what Draco knew of Potter's a_dventures_ in Hogwarts, he could safely assume that Potter was impulsive— Draco could swear that no sooner after Potter learns of Weasley's death, the-man-who-lived would be a frenzied man, wanting revenge— and recklessness can get _anyone_ killed. Eluding death once, twice, or thrice, did not mean there would be a fourth time. And Harry Potter wasn't immortal, despite what the media made him out to be. A dead Harry Potter would adversely affect the Light side, which would prove advantageous to the Dark side. People would start losing faith, as their _savior _was dead. What chance would they have against the _immortal _Voldemort? One by one they would fall, and when everything had fallen, all would be lost.

So he had to do something now. If Draco had truly changed, if he truly cared for what was left of the Wizarding World, he would do something to stop Potter's madness.

And so he screamed – forgetting where he was— at Saint Potter: "_You bloody wanker! _You can't risk your life for this! You might even blow _my _cover! And what's next, you'll have the Parkinsons _screwing _even Voldemort as well— just to get _information_? I'll jinx you so that you _won't_ be able to move! I _swea_r it, under my _parent's_ name, under the _old coot's_ name, under my _family'_s name, I will _bind_ you there, and leave you with Mrs. Black screeching non-stop—You know I can!— if you don't _promise_ to _stay _there at Grimmaulds Place!"

Something within Harry finally snapped, the magnitude of the realization weighing down on him. The awareness that hit him was so sharp that no sooner than a second later, he felt relief, and slowly, gratitude. Again, for what seemed the millionth time, Harry was glad, _really glad_, that Draco was fighting alongside them. He almost smiled, remembering that Draco had screamed, which meant he lost control. And he seldom lost control. Draco losing control only meant that _he_ was _affected_, that he _cared enough_ to be affected, and Harry knew the ex-Slytherin truly did care. _That _scream was about the most concrete admission he could get from Draco.

Harry fought the corners of his mouth from lifting; instead, he lifted his hands in a satisfying defeat. "All right! I won't _bloody_ go! Just go save Ron! Mal-"

And Draco snapped the lid shut. He rubbed his mouth, frustrated.

Draco, for the second time where a Meredith Reynolds was concerned, didn't know what to do. Damn the Golden Duo and Meredith Reynolds.

They would be the death of him.

He just knew it.

* * *

Author's notes:

See the purple button? Review again, guys! It won't make a dent on your schedule, I swear. I just want to know how you found this chapter, whether it was bad, or what. Can I expect twelve reviews for this chapter? I received thirteen reviews the last time I posted, though they weren't technically for the last chapter. :P Anyway, guys, just click the review button! I know you guys are busy-- BlueIrishEye and I just noticed the complete lack of activity/update with the stories we're reading. I received absolutely no update from anyone! It was kinda sad... So, just give this story at least just another minute. You'll at least make one person happy. :)

Next chapter will be focused entirely on Meredith!

**And:** Thank you for Reticents, i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god, selena montague, hazywriter, darkangel1890, rileycharms,blackcoat-245, candyrose1428, NairobiDawn, Queen Of the Emo's, Queen of the Scoubies, and last but not the least (my beta!) BlueIrishEyes for reviewing! (I love your comments!) God, you guys don't know how much your reviews mean! The story alerts for this fic has increased a lot since the previous chapter. It means a lot that new people are actually reading Forced to Forget! This has the most number of hits among all of my stories! So, guys, thank you! Your reviews always make me smile. You guys are heaven-sent:) And I mean that!

P.S. Check out Sophistication: The Dramione a C2 where I'm staffed at:) If you have some recommendations just PM me. :)

Last! I promise! Question. suggestions, criticisms are loved! Feel free!


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: I remembered some fics where I had to always browse the previous chapter, and I became annoyed with myself for it. So, guys, I made a little summary, and hopefully, this will be a permanent addition to every chapter now.

Chapter Five Recap:

Where Harry —who was at Grimmauld Place— was at the receiving end of Draco's —who was at Meredith's hallway, hiding, and trying as much as possible to be calm— hissings. The communication was only possible through the two-way communicator-disguised-as-a-compact-mirror each of them held.

Harry started panicking when he learned that Ron was caught. He even suggested that he would go to Meredith's flat and personally save Ron. Only through Draco's quick thinking, and the fact that he cared, made Harry stay, which would allow the Wizarding World to continue hoping that Voldemort would be defeated... some day.

Cutting their communication abruptly, Draco had no idea how he would save Ron.

* * *

This chapter: 

Point of view – Meredith (non-omnipotent)

Setting: Meredith's flat. Specifically? It's in the first paragraph.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Meredith stared at the copper knob and found her reflection mocking her. Sitting across the sink, above the rattan hamper, she had locked herself in the bathroom— which made her feel absurdly out-of-control as if she were running from something, hiding from something, for the first time in her life. And she hadn't meant that in a _good_ way. No thrill, no excitement; it was pure apprehension.

Her gaze levelled on the knob, and again, it taunted her. She cast a_ Silencio_ on the room, just in case she suddenly shouted at the shiny spotless subversive-looking inanimate knob She looked away quickly, filing a mental note that she would have to replace it with something more... nice-looking.

When she saw Ronald Weasley, she knew –she _instantly_ knew— she couldn't kill him. She thought of Obliviating him, then sending him back to whatever place he came from, but Mal- _Draco­ _got there first. Now, she had to live up to her reputation: cold, callous, _sadistic_.

She bit her lip, until she realized _she had just bitten her lip_. She _never _bit her lip. _God_, she wished Theo was here, so he could psychoanalyze-_whatever_ her. He could then tell her what the hell was wrong with her, and quickly fix her. Right, as if she could be fixed like a piece of joint metals.

She was human. Or was she? She never had a conscience—or maybe it was buried too deeply among her childhood memories. True, she was a Death Eater, but she was disgusted with most of the missions, finding them coldly appalling and notoriously atrocious acts. She was thankful that her presence was not always required. It paid well not to exist, at least, to most people.

Every time she was offered a life to finish, she repeatedly told herself over and over again that she was different. It wasn't conscience that stopped her from feeling _the thrill._ It was...it was something else entirely; it was something unknown (an emotion maybe—she didn't know) that kept her from becoming the ultimate DE. People who knew her thought she was perfect— but she simply just wasn't. There was a part missing. When she killed, she didn't feel excitement, didn't feel adrenaline; she didn't know why.

And it was exactly _why_, at that particular moment, she was very confused. She was feeling some very _foreign_ emotions. _Guilt, remorse_, she identified awkwardly, the words leaving an acrid taste in her mouth.

She uncrossed her legs, glancing heavenward, and had a weird urge to scream, "Is this how you want me to repay _You _for my sins, huh? _Is this how_? _Haven't you had enough for me?" _Her brows furrowed; she was deeply surprised with her sudden outburst of wanting to scream. Just scream... and scream and scream.

_Have you no mercy?_ She no longer had to ask; she just knew, without having to ask why _They _had none.

Maybe the Gods above were punishing her, because she no longer believed in them. _What did the Muggles call people like her? Ah, atheists. _But that wasn't fair; _she_ wasn't doing anything _to_ _them_! She wasn't even asking them for anythingHow dare—_fuck!_

"_God, she wished Theo was here..."_

She _was_ asking. She hissed, frustrated, at the discovery, dropping her head.

After eleven years of swearing that she would never believe in any God, she was _still _asking. Never mind that it was an unconscious habit. Never mind that she never expected anything from it. Never mind that she did not know the real reason why. Never mind that she lost faith in them so long ago, that her words lacked conviction, defeating the whole purpose entirely.

_Oh, Merlin._ How come she didn't realize? How long has she been unconsciously doing it—asking favours from a God, _any_ God, for that matter? In the first place, why did she always detach herself from everybody, from society— from what normalcy was left in the Wizarding World? How come she had always felt so alone?

She licked her lips, raised her head and leaned against the white tiles. The answer has just got to be here somewhere, she brooded. She went over her memories, trying to be dispassionate, looking for something, _anything_, that would clearly explain things... but she could not remember.

It was as if there were big gaping holes in her memory bank, as if she was tooafraid to remember them.

She did not know exactly why she no longer believed in God. It was no use trying to remember something painful, something bitter – something that she had buried deeply in her memories.

_What is wrong with me? How come I don't even know myself?_

She was cracking, she knew. Oh, how she knew, and the worst thing was... she didn't know how to_ stop_ it, because she had no facts. She did not know what she was up against; it was suicide to face the unknown.

If Voldemort suspected her of falling short to her usual _dedication _to the Cause, she would be dead in no time—cursed, hanged, thrown to snakes, _what?_ She swallowed, knowing for a fact how easily capable Voldemort was of disposing _subjects _because it was _her_ job to eliminate those who started thinking twice. She was the one who silently, stealthily went after the traitors. Traitors who would sell them to the Light Side. If there was an order that she be dispatched, who would possibly do it?

_Draco?_

She drew a shaky breath. _Draco_ was here. _Damn, damn, damn! _

She glanced at her reflection on the mirror, then schooled her features to appear nonplussed, apathetic, bored.

Could she do this? Could she forget every thought that lurked her mind in this episode of seclusion, or was she about to embark on a no return trip of playing a part? A part, when discovered, could mean the end of her life.

_Of course, you can! You're Meredith Reynolds!_

_Cold, callous, sadistic._

That's it, her subconscious screamed. _Sadistic!_ She just had to be _sadistic._

For the first time in the day, she smiled to herself.

* * *

A/N: That summary was my first attempt. And I've never been good with summaries, with anything that I have to shorten... unless I'm impartial to the piece I'm suppose to summarize. I'm a sucker for details, that's why. Anyway, still, tell me what you think about _that_ one and chapter itself.

So, thank you Heathen Respite (you're awesome!), Peanut18 and LadyBlackSwan (for your comments! They were helpful!), yocum1219, sarah, sweet.sonata, lollipop67, hazywriter, crazedfan, BIE, ashley-in-wonderland, darkangel1890, nairobidawn, for your reviews! Hope you leave reviews for this chapter as well!

By the way, check out the C2 I'm a staff of, _Sophistication: The Dramione. _

And also read Heathen Respite's fics! I'm sure you'll love 'em:)

Another thing, please pray for my grandmother's soul, she passed away about two weeks ago.


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Six Recap:

Meredith Reynolds felt absurdly out-of-control when she locked herself in her own bathroom, and even sported ridiculous notions—one among which was believing that her copper knob was taunting her.

The source of all these was an unconscious (stinking, as Draco Malfoy remarked) Ronald Weasley, lying flat on her living room floor. And his sudden appearance at her home threw Meredith into an unsuspecting confusion which she had never felt before.

Meredith started questioning herself, and she was shocked to find a number of revelations which pointed to one fact: she didn't know who she truly was— why there were gaping holes in her memory; why she no longer believed in God/s; why she was becoming aware of some strange mannerisms she never realized she had.

These all led her to question her dedication to her Father's cause, and when she finally remembered Draco Malfoy was at her apartment, she was relieved she had a plan: _Cold, callous, sadistic._

Finally, for the first time in that day, she smiled to herself.

* * *

This chapter: 

Point of view – Draco with a little Meredith (Tell me if you spot it.)

Setting: Meredith's flat.

Characters involved: Draco Malfoy and Meredith Reynolds (DeathEater!Hermione Granger) ::grins:: You know what that means?

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Draco heard the bedroom door open and footsteps approach him.

He had not thought of anything, of anything that involved the safety of a certain Ronald Weasley, yet. And Circe knows Meredith wasn't a bubble-head; she certainly didn't look like one.

Grabbing a face towel he conveniently conjured just moments ago, he turned towards her and caught his breath, his towel—completely forgotten—dangling helplessly from the loosened grip of his right hand.

_She certainly didn't look like one_.

"Hey," he suddenly said softly, surprising even himself. "You're beautiful."

The second the words were out of his mouth, he felt something warm circulate his body, heard his heart beat faster, stronger, a loud deafening noise that kept pounding, plundering—and then time stilled.

A few nanoseconds later, when his brain cells finally received enough oxygen, enabling and ensuring them to function properly, Draco groaned inwardly; he wanted to stuff his boot into his mouth, completely blocking out whatever nonsense it decided to spurt out.

His eyes immediately searched the counter, perusing for the tangible source of his absurdness: his grey eyes kept looking for his wine glass which seemed to be hiding from Draco's accusatory eyes— if such a thing was possible. He wasn't usually like this— heck, he was a _control-freak_!

Draco's brain was operating in overdrive, suddenly confused with the number of things he should do. The fact that he was already walking towards her eluded his mind. And suddenly, _just suddenly, _without him realizing it,he grazed her neck with his mouth.

It was a second to late when his head started screaming at him, calling for him to stop— to put a cork to whatever rubbish he was doing._ What the fuck am I doing?_

He didn't know what Meredith's first reaction was, but when he made no move of stopping, he instinctively knew Meredith had closed her eyes, moaning. Instinctively was the operative word. How his instincts knew was beyond him. For the moment, however, his brain could no longer deal with another piece of information.

"And Draco _scores_!" he heard a commentator shriek over his mind, accompanied by a crowd going wild. And yet, his mind could still come up with absurd –not to mention, completely unnecessary when his brain could no longer keep track of things— comments.

"Draco, _ahh_- we, _uhhmm_ have—" Meredith tilted her neck even further, giving Draco more space to work with. "—to-_ooo_ talk..."

Draco made a noncommittal sound. He was unconsciously drawn to this woman, and for that single moment, however short it would be, he was prepared to forget everything. Just once, at least, after...

_God, her neck's so soft, warm. _It was neither ice, cold to the touch, nor was it hard, as she was supposed to be.

"-about the..._Weasley_." Draco hid a groan behind his nuzzling, acutely aware of another organ throbbing. He did _not_ want to _talk_. Not just because it concerned the Weasel, but _he_ was having a hell of a time with her. _After all, it's been so long..._

_Maybe..._

His thoughts began to race in a direction that reflected a wickedness in himself. A wickedness, a viciousness, he simply did not want to acknowledge because acknowledging it meant returning to reality. And reality was never easy, was never fun, was never satisfying. It was always cold and sharp and painful; an ice-cold dagger plunged into one's heart, just right after the adrenaline pumped in. They were too different: ice, coldness, and adrenaline, heat. They were two extremes, facing the other, so everything could stop. And reality could return. In itself, in its return, it was harsh.

_Maybe I can waste enough time with her. Maybe, just maybe, I could sleep with her. Make her forget about Weasley, and surely, sooner or later, he'll wake up. He just_ had _to wake up. _

And it wasn't as if he wasn't enjoying himself. Damn, she reacted so_...perfectly. _He didn't think he'd be _this _affected.It's been too long since he last felt any excitement for any woman. The last he felt this _giddy_ was... three years ago. No matter how pathetic that sounded, Draco had to admit it was true. Meredith's neck was familiar, _too_ familiar, but Draco didn't dwell on it any further as he ran his tongue over her cheek, distracted by her erratic breathing.

Meredith almost swooned when his mouth reached her mouth. _Hot._

And all of a sudden, just abruptly, she felt a jolt, an explosion. His mouth covered hers in an electrifying, seductive kiss that sent sparks exploding all over Meredith's body. She knew he felt it, too. And a thrill ran across her spine, delighted to know that she was having the same effect on him.

_She writhed beside him, moaning in bliss. 'Draco...God, Draco,' she said over and over again. _

Meredith was floating in euphoria, and didn't think she could handle any more. Then, she felt Draco's hand shifted, one of them drifting down her spine to draw her closer, while the other hand slid behind her nape, and his mouth slowly opened on hers.

He groaned, "_'Miney."_

In that instant, in that flash of second, Meredith froze, her eyes suddenly wide.

Draco sensed something wrong, thought he was going too fast. When he slowed down and noticed she wasn't reacting any more, limp at his touch, he looked at her, dazed. He was about to ask what was wrong when it dawned on him. Her hair was _black_, _straight; _it was neither brown nor curly, not the soft russet tousels he used to fondle.

And_ then_ the world twisted.

"Meredith," he whispered raggedly as if it took a tremendous effort for him to speak. He silently cursed, letting go of her. He drew a frustrated breath, and said, "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I-"

Meredith laughed shakily. "It-It's all right, Draco. No need to apologize."

He didn't respond, and hit his head over the counter. He didn't need this; he didn't need her appearing in his head. Why couldn't he just let go.

"So, who's the lucky girl, Draco?" Meredith found herself saying, as she leaned on the opposite side of the counter. She wasn't interested to know, just... something to cover-up the silence. _And a damned good one to pick_, she heard her consciousness remark sarcastically.

Draco raised his head, and sighed wearily. "She's dead." He didn't know if he said it to convince _himself_ of the truth.

"Ah," Meredith managed softly. She didn't know whether to scream for joy or feel for the man in front of her. "I'm sorry." It came out distant, sounded insincere. As if it was a knut amongst a handful of golden galleons, totally insignificant.

Draco let out a harsh laugh. He knew how she felt. It was obvious. "Don't be." His eyes slowly gave way to pain, and his laugh faded.

Meredith heard the ache in his voice. "When? Whendid she die?" She knew reminding him was not only rude, but it was also hurting him... but she couldn't help it. One thing was for sure, she wasn't out for revenge. She didn't know why; she just _had_ to know.

"Three years ago," was Draco's flat response. Even to himself, he sounded stupid. Three fucking years and he still couldn't forget her face, her kiss, her smile, her everything. Once, he lived for her. And then she died, and he dies with her.

"I-"

Draco raised his head sharply, his stormy grey eyes meeting her hesitant brown orbs, issuing a dangerous challenge, challenging her to take pity on him, an emotion that he always recoiled from.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Weasley," Meredith's voice was firm, strong, her eyes meeting the challenge. Just like Hermione; she wasn't someone who would simply back down... just because he was a Malfoy.

But this was different. Because _she_ wasn't Hermione.

In intuition, just like how he would act whenever he was on unfamiliar grounds —struggling, because he was lost, confused— his guard instantly slammed in place. He had said enough about himself. "What about him?" Draco asked carefully, his tone a perfect mixture of ambiguousness and indifference.

"Let him free," Meredith responded, feigning boredom. At least, she _hoped_ she sounded bored.

Draco didn't know if he heard her correctly. He didn't know if this was some sort of test, a trap. "Let him free?" he repeated instead, sounding uninterested, monotonous.

Meredith drove in. She didn't care. Voldemort treated her as a daughter. If Draco thought that he had the upper-hand when it came to her father, then he can just go screw himself. "Yes. Let him free. Let him go. The War wouldn't be _fun_ anymore if we killed him now."

Draco's eyes hardened. She really was a _bitch_. It was wrong of him to mistake her for... _stop!_ She was far too different from _her_. But then, her suggestion made things easier for him. The Weasley would be alive, snoring on Potter's bed first thing in the morning. Maybe. If he were lucky, that is.

He raised a not-so-surreptitious brow. "And the Dark Lord?"

Meredith waved a hand breezily. "We don't tell him. Father is sometimes impulsive. If you could avoid mentioning this little... incident, the better."

Draco didn't care whether what was he was hearing sounded logical, Draco almost applauded the way she appeared and acted right now. It was as if nothing happened between them. And the way she discussed Weasley's release and told him not to say anything to Voldemort was as if she was commenting about the weather. Draco huffed enviously. He wished he possessed the same off-hand manner, so that he could forget about _her_.

"Do you have anyway of returning the _blood traitor_?" He was careful not to wince, and instead, injected a vile amount of disgust to the last word.

"I thought you may have some contacts." She paused then shrugged, lifting a shoulder casually. "Be a gentleman will you, Draco. I'll leave him up to you." Her eyes gleamed, and she crossed the small distance between them. "After all you're a big boy," she whispered in his ear huskily. He fought hard to retain his eyes opened, to banish those thoughts, those images, away.

She waltzed towards her room and yawned before calling out, "Oh, let's do this again, Draco. I had fun. Just make_ sure_ you get it right the next time. I'll leave my floo connection open for the next three minutes. _That is.._." Which meant _she_ wanted him out_ as soon as possible_.

He didn't know if it was a threat or what, and frankly, at the moment, he wasn't abso-fuckin-lutely bothered. He wanted to leave her flat, toss Weasley over to Potter, curse him, then head over to a bar and sulk. Three years was a long time and he still hadn't gotten over her.

Maybe it was time to do so.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the support and understanding you showed with my previous chapter recap. I'm relieved that none of you complained, but still, if you didn't like it, honestly, just tell me. So, then, how was the summary this chapter? Five paragraphs. ::sighs:: I think it's a bit long, but I like it. So, really, tell me what you think. 

On, another note, I know you're getting quite excited to end my life right now with what I did with this chapter. ::hides behind a heavy rock (HR? Mine is definitely bigger. ::grins::):: Was it so out-of-the-blue? Was I too cruel? I know that kiss wasn't really that... _wow._ Bummer, I know. But this is my first ever fanfic!kiss and since I've got strict parents as well... you do know what that means. :P Well, enough about me. God knows my life is never interesting. So... how was it?

I browsed and edited this chapter (on 05/19/07: past twelve am, lifting and closing the laptop lid, for fear of my mother's wrath. She no longer wanted me to sleep late, and I've been, well, doing exactly that... watching Prince of Tennis and all.) after BIE returned it back to me. I changed some more things, added a few words here and there, lengthened some phrases, added additional parallelisms, so when you see something wrong it's definitely my fault. I remember putting a comma where it was really unnecessary, so if you did spot it, tell me.

It's quite sad, though, but lesser people (who are on alerts for this story) are reviewing, actually. Still, here's my gratitude to the reviewers of the last chapter: thank you so much to dRaCo'sxAnGeL, rileycharms, darkangel1890, crazedfan, LittleBlackSwan, BIE, Yocum1219, nairobidawn, selene montague, HR. And HR (again), noname, Sophia, rileycharms for the previous chapters. BIE and HR are everything a writer could wish for reviewers and readers— thanks so much guys! Again, on behalf of my family, thank you to your prayers. Today is her thirthieth day.

And, just a request, if you're going to review, kindly enter your email address as well, since I personally reply to my reviewers...especially if you have questions. BTW, school for me is starting soon, but I just want to tell you guys, I'm going to finish this, whatever it takes.

Next chapter: Draco and Harry, once again, ladies and gents (are there some?).


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Seven recap:

Draco didn't know what to do, even though he heard the footsteps approaching; he still didn't know what to do. But when he saw her, he lost control. And on an impulse, he found himself complimenting her. It was neither cool nor suave: "Hey. You're beautiful."

And then it started. He grazed her neck, and he went loose. He couldn't stop, wouldn't stop; she reacted so perfectly. And even Weasley's name did not deter him from conquering her. Even she couldn't stop him by himself.

No.

What brought everything into a chilling stop, a halting screech, was his own self, his own unconscious desire, his own unwavering need. "_'Miney."_

And the world twisted, after that.

And however nasty what happened next, it was also a catalyst. At least he had Ronald Weasley safe.

* * *

This chapter: 

Point of view – Harry's with a little of Draco's.

Setting: Grimmaulds Place— Lobby/living room/reception area/living room. Is that enough:P

Characters involved: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. And oh, an unconscious Ronald Weasley.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Harry stood, leaning on a post of the staircase, unable to believe what he was seeing. He squinted, but the image didn't go away. Instead, it only got more real: Harry was now hearing sounds.

"Stupid _bint_," he heard a lazy slurr. "_Geroff my head_!"

Then came the slow heavy pants. _Huo. Huo. Huo._

Even more unbelievable was that the next body started murmuring, "'mione..."

Harry then heard a derisive snort. "Aww, quit your yappin', Weasley!" Draco scowled, or at least Harry thought Draco did, but then again it was quite difficult to discern their reactions when he was fourteen _bloody_ feet away from the flat-on-the-floor bodies. "Haven't you heard? Hermione Granger has been _fhucking _dead for _three years_ already! Killed by an unidentified Death Eater!" he snapped, his right arm slapping the ground, covering the tone of anguish underneath his words.

Now Harry was downright confused. Last time he heard from Draco, the pureblood was cursing him and Ron, on the verge of losing his vocal cords. What the hell was that? It surely _wasn't_ a snapping Draco before. Merlin, Draco wasn't even standing. Harry squinted, but the distance kept him from seeing something definitive.

And he was randomly spurting out Hermione's name. By God, what the hell was wrongwith Draco? And how did _he_ manage to bring back Ron? It wasn't that Harry was neither happy nor relieved to see Ron in one piece, because he was. It was just that Draco's actions were very unusual. The operative word was 'unusual', heightened with an adverb 'very'. Typically, Draco tended to brag about his expeditions and bark at Harry for his stupidity. Unless Harry missed it, he was hearing none. Which brought the word 'unusual' to another whole level.

Harry, resolute on getting to the bottom of this, started towards the stairs. On the second that he realized that Ron might have been injured, he quickly covered what was left of the stairs and ran to Ron's side, kneeling down.

Another drawl came from Draco. This time Harry heard a bitter resentment— of what, he couldn't particularly fathom.

"Stoo_phid_, W_eas_-ly. S'not a _good_ dwinken buddy, Potte_h_. Duno how _hi_yu l_h_ive wi_th_ him." Draco jerked a thumb towards Ron's unmoving body, looking calm, not the least perturbed.

It took Harry exactly five seconds to repeat Draco's words quickly before he grasped the ex-Slytherin's implication and current state. _He was drunk! And he brought an injured Ron to a bar? _

Indignation flared within Harry. "You _dense_, _faggot_-"

Draco scoffed upon hearing the alternate term for homosexual, and hearing it from someone who had more chance of being one was highly insulting. "_I_ am not-_t_ gay, Potte_h," _he told him, leaning on his right arm for support."

"-_dim-witted, bloody_, _arsehole! _You brought Ron to a bar when he was injured?" Harry shouted, unaffected by Draco's glare, who was now sitting on the ground. Harry never thought he'd see the day that a Malfoy was _voluntarily _sitting on the floor. Without any complaints!

"He," Draco motioned to the red-head, "was_h_ n_h_ot in_ch_ured, Potte_h. _He was prit-_teh_-ly, and _conveniently_, unconscious." Draco closed his eyes before his tone turned accusing, rubbing his temple with his index and middle finger. "The lea-heast he cud' have da_wn _was _listen_ to me talk after _I_ saved his fat arse. The _bah-stud _just slept!"

Harry, for the first time in his life, didn't know whether to laugh at Draco's absurdity or shed tears in exasperation. "I don't believe it. There is just no bloody way that you're drunk," Harry muttered darkly.

Draco gave a broken, amused laugh. "Try me, _Potteh. _You whana smell my lahove-ly breath?"

Harry was tempted to replace the smirk on Draco's face with one of pain. He was seriously considering _doing_ something that would hinder Draco from producing smart-assed people like himself. _God forbid,_ Harry thought, horrified just thinking of the poor kids who would be completely confused when they grew up.

"_Daddy, what is smart-ass?" a pretty little boy with silver-blue eyes and pale blond hair asked as he tugged at Draco's dress shirt._

"_It means you're smart, and people envy you," Draco replied, smiling a triumphant grin as his eyes began to shift towards Harry. "Just like Potter. He's jealous of you, son."_

_The kid silently kept alternating his gaze between the two men, before grinning himself. "Hah!" he said, proud and happy, his index finger pointed to Harry. "I'm better than you!" _

_God forbid_, Harry thought again as his mind slowly got rid of the image.

"Malfoy, am I the one who's irrational? _You_ are sitting on the _floor_. The _filthy_ floorYou do _remember_ you hate _filthy things_, right?" Draco opened his mouth to retort when Harry held his ground, raising a hand to indicate he wasn't done. "_You_ were supposed to bring back Ron _here. _And thankfully, you did. _But you were not_ –I repeat: _NOT— _supposed to bring _him_ to a_ bar! _He was _unconscious._ _Unconscious! _U-N-C-"

Draco groaned, not believing what was happening to him. "Gawd, Potte_h_. You s_h_ound like a p_h_arrot. You," he said with his index finger pointed, "do n_hot_ need to repeat every _bloody_ word you say." He stopped, helping himself stand. He sniffed and continued by saying, "_You_ have the g_h_all to bloody ins_hu_lt me when _you're_—" index finger raised "— the reason _your_ friend was in trouble! Geez! You are worse than the _mudblood! _Do you actually know that?" By that time, Draco was breathing heavily, his face hinting that he was at the end of his patience.

Harry couldn't respond. He simply just couldn't. Draco never _ever_ said the word '_mudblood' _after... well, after he shifted allegiance. What the hell was wrong?

"Besides," Draco further slurred, his vision blurring a bit. "If I knew the _Weashley_ was_h_ in a" –sway- "cruc-i-al cond-dition, I would have brought him here directly_. But give me some" –sway—" credit, Potteh_. He _was_n't."

The man-who-lived knew that Draco was dangerously about to fall... some time soon. With a tired voice, he addressed the ex-Slytherin, "Go on,_ Draco. _There's an empty room there. Youcan stay there if you want, instead of Apparating back to wherever." _And disfigure, slice or whatever yourself. _He knew that Draco was a man who rarely asked for anyone's help, so refrained from helping him towards his room."Gin will be here later with food. You can wake up by then_."_

His ex-nemesisnodded curtly at him, then walked languidly towards the stairs. When Draco reached it, he could only stare.

_What was this? 12 feet?_

A groan.

He took a deep breath and began to climb up, slowly, seemingly effortless. Just like the Malfoy way. Hey, even though he was fighting alongside Potter, it didn't change the fact that he _was_ still a Malfoy.

Meanwhile, Harry was still beside the red-head, who was_ still _unconscious. The green-eyed man sighed forlornly, thoroughly perplexed at what he was to do. He wasn't a Healer, for God's sake. And he was too anxious to cast any healing spell, since his heightened nervousness might only worsen Ron's condition. And Ginny wouldn't be back till around ten in the morning, which left Harry quite clueless at what to do.

And yet, the grey-mattered organ, also known by most as the "brain", was able to think of something. _Harry_ was a half-muggle. He wanted to slap himself silly for not thinking of it sooner. Potions would take nights to prepare; and magic was simply out of the question. A sly grin made its way towards Harry's face.

_That's why I love technology. Fast and easy. _

* * *

A/N: Please tell me what you think by clicking the purple button over there. points over the to south west direction Yes! 

Thank you for your reviews, everyone! I hope you're still enjoying the story. If you spot anything, just tell me.

And I'll try to reply to your reviews or PMs asap since I'm swamped with a lot of things right now. In fact, in a week, I've only read two fics. At the moment, I'm not feeling too good, the obvious case being 'colds'. Uh, I've got my retreat in two weeks, and next month is our first College Entrance Exam, and I haven't started reviewing, yet. I mean, I know the basics-- but our exams include everything we tackled and will be tackling from first year to fourth year in subjects such as Science, Math, and English. I'm glad I don't have to review English anymore.

Anyway, tell me what you think, again.

The next chapter is on Meredith. Solo chapter, so it's a bit angsty, I think.


	10. Chapter Nine

A/N: I know. It's been so long since I last updated! wince Well, for this chapter you have to thank reticentenduro since he's the one who pushed me to updating this by reminding me that I have way many chapters stored in the my drive.

Chapter Eight Recap:

Harry was unbelievably surprised when he saw a drunk Draco cursing with Ron unconscious on the ground at the foot of the stairs.

This chapter: (10/11/07)

Point of view: Meredith's—you finally get to see underneath the exterior.

* * *

_Meredith was seated, her little hands clasped, her feet barely touching the ground. She was waiting for someone, for anyone to put her in some place where she can be safe, for the nice Miss Ferio, the social worker, to return. Miss Ferio told her she would be back soon, and that the only thing she expected from Meredith was to behave. For her own sake, Meredith would behave._

_Meredith didn't have a problem behaving. She was far too smart to ruin this crucial moment that could potentially start the mark of her new life. If a shot at happiness meant that she had to impress some people, which meant she had to sit still and quietly, she'd gladly do it even if she had to pretend that nothing was wrong in her life. After all, life was just a game, wasn't it? At least she would experience a moment of bliss before she died._

_She knew it was imperative that she impress the people who were about to see her, so they can adopt her, therefore finally able get that shot at being happy. In all of the houses she'd been sent to, she had never once felt… joy. There was always pain, abuse, and discrimination. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Miss Ferio told her she was pretty, good, and nice—in exactly those words, in exactly that order.. She didn't know what she was doing wrong. _

_"I've known her for the past few years," she heard Miss Ferio say, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. _

_They were near. _

_She slowly raised her chin, silently, desperately praying to God to give her a good family, a good home._

_In the next few minutes, she was smiling, utterly grateful._

* * *

_"N-No!" a woman screamed, her eyes wild, her blood pressure impossibly high. She couldn't believe what was happening, or maybe she was delusional. No, this was definitely happening._

_The 'this' part was that her house was burning and her whole family was inside, burning with it. _

_Smoke filled her lungs, causing her to cough dramatically. _

_"Meredith!" Her throat was getting sore. The smoke—it was getting too much. "_Meredith_? Where are you? _Honey,_ baby, where are you?"_

_Meredith was barely ten-years-old, and she was very afraid. She could hear her mother calling for her, but through the thick grey smoke, she could neither tell nor see where she was. _

_"M-mom?" her little voice called out. She hugged her baby blue Easter bunny tighter, walking blindly, her eyes glassy because of the irritation caused by the smoke. _

_"Baby? I have the boys with me!" She could hear her mother's voice. She was near. So near. She could feel her. Her brothers were crying, and she could imagine how terrified they were. Unlike them, however, she was alone._

_"Mommy? Whe-where are you?" Meredith wanted to cry. She didn't know what to do; and she knew she wouldn't be _able_ to do anything. Not at her age. No. She was useless. She was smart enough though –to the point of being called a freak by other children— to know that she, her family, could die in this fire. She wanted to cry badly. She wanted her mommy badly. She wanted to-_

_"Meredith? G-get" -cough- "get out of t-this house! Do you hear me?" _

_Something fell. A block of wood, a pillar, a cabinet-Meredith didn't know. All she heard was a loud piercing scream, followed by more sobs._

_"M-mmommm!"_

_"I-I'm fine, Mer," she heard a wheezy, raspy, soft voice. "Y-you go ahead. No m-matter what happens, go somewhere safe. A-and don't tell them you're a witch, Mer. _God_, don't tell them! Whatever you do, don't tell them!" _

_Meredith tasted something salty, felt her eyes pooling tears. "Mom?" She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to give up. She didn't want to have another family. This one, this one was perfect. _

_"Meredith," her mother's voice continued, sniffling. "We- we love you. We," her voice growing softer, "hope you keep yourself safe. Aaron, the boys," her breathing was more labored than ever, "love you like a sister. D-don't blame yourself-"_

_A movement caught her eye, and she knew a beam was about to fall. Again._

* * *

"_Noooo!_"

Meredith's eyes opened, her limbs tangled around her sheets. Gasping, head raised, her hair plastered chaotically to her forehead sticky with sweat, she groped towards her lamp, momentarily forgetting she _was_ a witch.

And suddenly, she knew.

She _knew_.

She knew exactly _why_ she was who she was. Why she acted as such.

It was past midnight. The neighborhood where her apartment was located was a relatively peaceful one. Besides the handful of cars one could hear speeding along the roads, she heard nothing, except the soft hum of her air-conditioner and her uneven breathing, breaking the natural stillness of her room.

All those years, blank; all those years, silent. Oh, she knew something had happened; she just could not remember exactly _what_ happened.

Taking a deep breath, she dropped her head on her hands, cradling her face, catching the tears that were now falling helplessly.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered, raggedly. "I haven't –_damn it— _asked for anything since— since you abandoned me!

"Why?" she suddenly screamed, her voice full of anguish, a tangible essence of bottled suffering finally surfacing. "Is it because I've killed?"

She felt her body trembling with rage, with grief—she didn't know. _What a wreck_, she thought. Abruptly, she heard a bitter laughter echo in the room, then she realized she was the one laughing.

"You know, damn you! You fucking now why I killed!"

The room was suddenly engulfed in silence. The noiseless environment was a blatant contrast to her curses and screams.

"You ceased existing eleven years ago," she declared harshly.

And when she still had no response whatsoever—thunder, lightning, _whatever_— Meredith just glared at the north-eastern section of the wall, trying to focus her anger. Focusing, on the other hand, required patience, something she didn't have at the moment. She couldn't summon the energy to be pacify herself. She wanted to lash out; she wanted to bring pain, to hurt someone.

Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest hard thing her hands could get to and flung it to the wall. It crashed, breaking into a million arbitrary pieces, just like how she was years ago.

Broken.

Damaged.

Hurt.

Irreparable without magic.

Ignorant…

That was her favorite vase. And she threw it. She just threw her favorite vase right at the wall. She was just so full of... Meredith clenched her fists, shutting her eyes.

"_Your_ people_ condemned_ me! _They_ condemned a little girl! They _hated_ me and neither I couldn't understand why." Softly, the words came tumbling out her mouth. "They killed my family…"

The tears kept spilling, and she was powerless to stop them. She had never truly acknowledged these emotions, never had directly spoken to Him after _it_ happened.

"I won't allow you to interfere with my life, again. I have magic. And I have access to Muggle life. _You_ can't _hurt me_ anymore. Everything that I want is at my disposal. I can _do_ anything. _I don't need you_." And abruptly, anger deserted her, leaving her weak, miserable.

Loud sobs kept echoing, her breathing uneven. "_You _have," -she whispered violently- "no _right._" She rubbed her right arm against her sore eyes. "You just _don't_."

Her sobbing continued, her shoulders shaking. In a little while, everything subsided, to a point where she could properly think and not break nor blameanything—to a point where her eyes registered an innocent bottle of Melatonin, a sleep inducing medication, on her study table. Her brain processed the image. She wanted it.

With her lips pressed into a grim line, she pushed the blanket, at the same time dropping her legs over to the side. She bent over, ignoring her slippers, then forced her whole lower limb against the ground, standing. Barefooted, she crossed the wooden flooring, and finally reached the table.

Head tilted and feeling the sweet sense of victory, she grabbed the bottle— and without shaking it, her jaw tensed, her eyes narrowed. The said bottle received Meredith's full disdainful look, and it could have easily broken, if Meredith wanted to.

A second later, Meredith dropped back the bottle on the surface with deliberate slowness, as if she were releasing her irritation through a small hole, gradually.

With the sound of her foot tapping over the background, her mind ran over the ingredients required in brewing her somewhat-altered recipe for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, which she learned in her second year in Durmstrang.

_Crap! Don't have the Asphod… nor the Valerian Roots…_

A weary sigh escaped her lips. She was tired, so very tired.

Tired from pretending to actually care for His Cause, tired from pretending to be cruel and sadistic when she felt _it_ was wrong. Her earlier explosion was a result of wanting a scapegoat for everything that had happened to her, but still despite their depravity she could never bring herself to enjoy killing muggles.

Sometimes, even in her sleep, she would see their mutilated bodies, their pleas for help, their screams of agony. They never went away—never.

Merlin, how she wanted to sleep, but she didn't want to have those nightmares—their faces or her past.

Hands on her hips, brows raised, she said, "Drug store it is."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to reticentenduro, BIE, HR, and of course to those who reviewed the last chapter. Tell me what you think about this chapter by clicking the blue button. Make me happy before I start college. p


	11. Chapter Ten

A/N: I suggest you guys read both the two chapters before this. The last few lines are quite important, which lead to this scene.

* * *

The pharmacy employee brushed an errant strand of hair, carefully placing it behind her ear

The pharmacy employee brushed back an errant strand of hair, carefully placing it behind her ear. She was _flirting_ with her customer, Meredith observed with disgust.

If it weren't for the fact that she was desperately in need of sleeping pills that would knock her out, she wouldn't be witnessing this pathetically poor excuse of a bimbo who was obviously not using her brain. Oh, wait, did the bimbo even have a brain?

But at least she was keeping Meredith occupied, distracted, so she wouldn't be able to remember her nightmare.

Pressing her manicured right hand delicately to her chest, the coquettish employee apologized sweetly, "I'm sorry, sir, _that—_" referring to her previous client, who was a complete hag "—took so long. How can I help you?"

Meredith, waiting for _someone_ to attend to her, pursed her lips, listening in to the conversation the coy employee was having with her oblivious customer. Don't get her wrong though, she hardly made a habit of eavesdropping in someone else's conversation, but she was particularly bored and pissed with waiting. In fact, Meredith was pretty sure she had detested eavesdropping in her past life, especially when the subject was oh-so-life-threatening; then again, she couldn't be exactly sure _what_ she hated doing in her past life. The childhood memories in her current life suddenly just started creeping upon her, swamping her unexpectedly — and _those_ memories were no way near dream-like or pleasant-like— and forcing her to depend on sleeping pills.

The ignorant brown-haired man replied politely, "Uhm, I need to pick up some pain-killers."

The stupidblonde –Meredith wanted to call her, since she had a few blonde strands sticking out of her small cap, and she was, of course, a complete bimbo— said, "Mefenemic acid, sir?"

_Great, the stupid blonde's showing off— whoops— only, she wasn't stupid after all; she knew the term Mefenemic Acid! _Meredith wanted to gasp, just for the heck of it. Instead she opted to roll her eyes, her fingers tapping in irritation on the counter.

Meredith supposed the stupid blonde didn't get a lot of customers –good-looking, male customers— during her God-forsaken shift. Still, that didn't give her the right to _harass_ her poor patrons. Meredith's heart went out to the guy.

The events of the day (or night) must have already been getting to her since she usually wasn't mean to strangers –pretty strangers who hadn't done anything to her— even if the only thing they could be proud of was their pathetic looks. See? There she went again, insulting people she did not know.

The man with green eyes, from the angle Meredith could see, opened his mouth hesitantly, unsure of what to say. "Uh-"

"Don't worry," Meredith interrupted smoothly, now directly facing him, finding a moment to do something about her boredom. "Mefenemic acid is the scientific name for pain-killers. She's on the right track." She turned to the stupid blonde and a saccharine sweet smile graced her features.

The employee's own smile was suddenly wiped from her face. Her eyes crossed from Meredith to her-supposed-cute-guy customer, before nodding silently and walking away. Was that a white flag raised?

_Oops, my bad._

The man turned to her. "I-I don't know what to say. Thanks for that. I-I was feeling a bit awkward."

So, the guy wasn't oblivious, Meredith thought. With her eyes closed, a smirk in place, she remarked, "I think I got that, hence my _interference_."

When she opened her eyes, her attention was focused at his right hand, which was being offered for a hand shake. Smiling modestly, and thinking she had nothing to lose from clasping a stranger's hand, she grasped his right hand— until suddenly, with her breath frozen in her throat, time stopped, and Meredith was warped to a memory she had no idea existed.

"'_Mione!_ _Where is she?"_

_WARP!_

_Someone pushed her, a rough shove which landed her face right on the mud. "Keep your head down! Do you _seriously _want to be hit?"_

_WARP!_

_A thirteen-year-old boy with glasses and green eyes moved towards her, completely bewildered. She was holding some kind of chain— a chain with a tiny, sparkling hourglass hanging from it._

_She tilted her neck forward, wearing the chain._

"_Here—" _

_In the next second, she managed to throw the chain around his neck as well. _

"_Ready?" she said breathlessly._

"_What are we doing?" the boy asked her, completely lost._

_Without offering a response, she turned the hourglass over three times. _

_WARP!_

"I'm Harry," he said, at the same time she rasped, "—Harry," her brown eyes meeting his green ones.

The handshake wasn't even secured firmly before Harry caught her swaying body.

"Are-are you all right?" He steadied her, and peered more closely, his forehead creased.

Meredith blinked, stumped momentarily for three quick nanoseconds, before she managed to wave a hand dismissively, determined to lie. She was not a damsel-in-distress. She was not weak. She did not faint. She did not sway. She was Meredith Reynolds. Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm fine, thank you."

_You're strong. You're a witch. You're Meredith Reynolds._

The images shook her, but she wasn't just about to admit that publicly. And the fact that a complete stranger caused those images to surface was just plain insane. She was just tired, or maybe a spell had gone wrong and hit her instead, which forced her to relive those moments.

A voice interrupted her musings. "How did you know my name?" Harry asked. His tone balanced on the edge of suspicion and shock, clearly taken aback.

_Oh, _he_ was the one was taken aback? Seriously? _

Trying not to wince, instead settling for a grin she hoped was convincing, she said, while shrugging, "I'm psychic."

Harry neither reacted nor moved for a few seconds, staring at her, which prompted Meredith to think that there was more to this Harry person. And then, throwing Meredith off guard, he sighed, relieved, shaking his head while chuckling. Stepping back, he asked, "What, you saw something like death?"

"What, you're not new to psychics?" Meredith returned, conveniently leaning her right arm on the counter, needing something to balance her, to anchor her. She was genuinely curious whether or not this man was familiar to psychics and their premonitions, and the thing was, she didn't have the faintest clue as to why she wanted to know.

"What, suddenly you're my number one fan?"

If Meredith were drinking something, she would have spurted it right back to his face. Lucky him, she mused, she wasn't gulping down something. "What, you're suddenly cocky?"

Harry chuckled, amused. "No, I'm afraid I'm usually humble. You just bring out the worst in me."

Meredith rolled her eyes playfully –for once forgetting that she was with a total stranger—brushing a stray strand from her face, mimicking with exaggeration the female employee. "Oh, do I—"

"Sir—"

Uh-oh.

The stupid blonde had her mouth hanging open. Something was about to happen— Meredith could taste its bitter claws, salivating after her.

_Did I offend her? _Meredith seriously wanted to blink.

Meredith turned innocently to the pharmacy employee, whose hips were swaying seductively. _Ugh_. "She's back," Meredith intoned in a bored tone, stating the obvious.

For some reason, Meredith was feeling a bit overprotective towards the total stranger who she had just met and spent exactly four minutes and forty-three seconds with.

It was odd.

It was bizarre.

It was totally unlike her.

Then again, worst things _have_ happened.

Coughing, Harry sent a mischievous grin over to Meredith; then a "So, found it?" while turning to the employee.

And now, Meredith wanted seriously to laugh. The pharmacy employee was annoyed; Meredith just wasn't sure exactly _with who_— her or Harry. If one actually critically inspected the employee, then one would see a slight tightening in the corners of her eyes (trying to abstain from narrowing her eyes), her mouth subtly twitching (refraining herself from screaming at two possible people who might bring some cash into her register, an action which, if allowed to happen, had the potential to get her fired or suspended), and her delicate fingers faintly trembling (itching to either grab Meredith's hair and cause a scene, or slap Harry's face silly... causing a scene as well).

"I'm sorry, sir," the blonde employee replied in a tight, distant voice— no longer sweet, no longer cheerful, "but I'm afraid we no longer have any Mefenemic acid."

Harry blinked, as if not catching what she just said. "Excuse me?"

With all her facial muscles strained and tense, she repeated, "We no longer have any Mefenemic acid."

"I think what he meant by his 'Excuse me' was that he doesn't believe youno longer _have_ Mefenemic acid," Meredith intervened.

The pharmacy employee looked at her sharply. "Okay," she said throatily, a sure sign that _she _had run out of patience, "are you his_ girlfriend_?"

Woah.

Meredith opened her mouth, a witty retort on the tip of her tongue when her own pharmacy employee, a male one (Did they make sure that male clients get female employees, and female clients get male employees?) came. "Ma'am, we have a GNC Melatonin ten milligrams, twenty-five tablets. Are you going to get it?"

_Thankfully, this one's decent. _

Meredith raised her right index finger, and held it up for Harry's pharmacy attendee. "Gimme a sec, will you?" It was said none too kindly.

Meredith quickly turned to her own attendee, handing her own credit card. "I'll get one bottle. Here's my card."

After that, she returned her attention to the stupid blonde. "And no, for the record, I am not his—" jutting her thumb towards Harry "—_girlfriend_. I am _proud_ to be single, not like some _desperate _people."

Meredith's neck twisted, glancing at the green-eyed man. "By the way, _Harry –_who isn't my boyfriend—" she said pointedly, sparing a derisive glare at the stupid blonde, "I have Ponstant FR—a pain-killer— at my house. It's fast relief, so the effects will hit you sooner than you wait for _this_ to be settled."

Meredith smiled at her attendee, grabbed the plastic, and faced Harry. "My house is just a few minutes walk."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapter, and also for the astounding subscription/favorite story. Caramel ensaymaditas for everyone. :)

The thing is I haven't written a new chapter for a year already, and these recent chapters have just been stored in my HD. I probably have two chapters left, then... blank. I haven't had the inspiration to write a new chapter for this story yet, and with college keeping me busy... it might take a really long time for the next chapters to be posted.

So, if there are really readers out there, please tell me what you think, and whether you'll continue to read this, because if not then I won't prioritize this story. I've got two chapters left, I think, then it'll be perhaps in summer before I start writing. XD Besides, I'm somewhat stuck as well, so tell me what you think, what you'd like to see, some twists, some themes... that I could use in this story, so the plot could keep on going.

chaste-aeon

* * *


	12. Chapter Eleven

Harry straightened his collar, deviating (this seems like the wrong word to me, but I'm not sure of a substitute) them from t

Harry straightened his collar, deliberately altering them from their usual normal crisp folds, and then pulled his cloak around him tighter. He internally cursed, regretting that he didn't wear anything thicker; Ginny would skin him alive if she knew about this current display of recklessness.

"_Harry James Potter! You are an idiot for going out in just a— just _that_**!**__" She sent him a withering glare.__** "**__Do you have a death wish?" Her voice became louder, shriller, and Harry was surprised that a human's voice could reach that high. His eyes wandered around his surroundings, looking and checking if any glass suddenly sported a crack._

"_What were you thinking? Going out like that—without even leaving a note? For Merlin's sake, you____could have _died_!" Her face darkened, her lips pressed into a thin line— exactly how Mrs. Weasley looked when she was mad, Harry thought, ignoring her reference on his near death experience. He almost bit his lip, stopping himself from voicing out his thoughts, rationalizing that it was better not to mention it instead. He might be able to live longer, at least have an hour more, instead of dropping dead on the floor right now— the cause of which, an autopsy later would reveal, was an Avada straight from Ginny Weasley's wand. _

_Ginny walked towards him, slowly. In the next four steps, she was directly in front of him, and, inheriting none of her brothers' ability to grow so tall, she had to tilt her head._

_The only thing that kept Harry from swooning from the intensity of the redhead's gaze was that he knew it was unmanly. Having only one reason, which wasn't really significant anyway, did not help his cause. The fact that her mouth was in-level with his own just made matters worse. He could smell strawberries, and it was so much like Ginny that he lost control. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, and—_

"Harry, they have strawberries here!" she said pleased, smiling despite the chilly air, when she saw new crates of strawberries at a general store she had dropped by yesterday. "Must be a new delivery," murmured. She did a double-take. "I didn't know they were twenty-four hours open— Harry_?_" Meredith spared a glance to her left, only to stop in her tracks. There was nobody beside her. She quickly craned her neck and found him.

When she repeated his name, he jerked, rasped a dry, "Huh?" and blinked. Twice.

"You're freezing," she said, stating the obvious as she took a deep breath, her face pinkish from the cold, the luscious red strawberries forgotten. "Come on, my building is near. You wouldn't need to suffer anymore— from the cold or the pain you're feeling." She smiled at him, albeit hesitantly, and urged him forward.

Harry laughed shakily, his breath coming out in a translucent white puff. _So much for that heat-inducing kiss._

"It's just around the next corner. Bayham Street," Meredith remarked excitedly. He didn't know what the source of her sudden excitement was, but he wasn't about to do anything to dampen it. The faster they arrived at her house, the better. Her apartment would provide warmth, when at present –or as long as he's with Meredith— he couldn't cast a Warming spell for fear that she would notice something was out of the ordinary. And he wasn't a really good actor. The next words he might find himself saying after her commenting on his apparent magical abilities would probably be, "Yes, I'm a wizard, but I mean you no harm," or "I'm not an alien. I come in peace."

Curbing a sigh, he concentrated instead on the little piece of information that seemed to be ringing a bell. "Bayham Street," Harry repeated, rolling the word across his tongue. He was sure he'd heard or read the street somewhere before. Her apartment was rather close to Grimmauld Place. _Coincidence, that_.

"You've been around here before?" his companion asked with ease, her strides longer, her pace faster.

_Around this neighbourhood? I don't think so. _Harry shook his head in a negative. "I think a friend of mine mentioned it," he explained hesitantly; the information eluding him still. He could have sworn he had just heard it recently. _Besides, I would have never been caught spending time with an innocent Muggle with the War ongoing. That would be something akin to murder. And I already have enough deaths on my conscience. No, thank you. _

"Oh." Meredith shrugged, complete oblivious to where Harry's thoughts were heading, and continued walking, a beat in her steps. "You have a bad memory, Harry," she said, shaking her head. It was only when he saw a hidden smile on her lips did the teasing tone she just used register; she was joking.

Meredith managed to coax him into talking about a casual topic, which then turned to their common interests, which led Harry to forget what he was occupied with just moments ago. Harry discovered Meredith liked reading books; she admitted sheepishly she couldn't last a day without reading or finishing a book. Harry closed his eyes for a quick second, refraining from sighing, as he was painfully reminded of Hermione.

After that, they talked about restaurants, in which Harry had to fabricate a story. _It's why I don't go out with Muggles. Not to mention, I don't have time to eat at fancy restaurants. And the fact that I'm Harry bloody Potter_, he added derisively.

Two minutes of their conversation was spent on criticizing the streetlamps and the pebbled street they turned into. It was the most unusual conversation he ever had. He only knew one woman who was this much of a stickler for details...

Finally, after much walking, silence, conversing, silence, Meredith stopped in front of a blue building. "This is it," she breathed, a white cloud of air released from her lips.

--

After Meredith inserted the key and turned the knob, the door made a sharp, very fine, creaking noise when she finally pushed it open. A shadow of surprise covered her features.

Meredith shook her head in confusion. _That_ Harry saw. "Is there something wrong?" he inquired politely as he stepped in to her apartment, the musty smell of books, relaxing green tea, and a blend of strong coffee beans filling his nostrils.

This sense of familiarity that Meredith was giving him was dangerous. It was intoxicating: it was as if he was with Hermione, that his best friend was back. Harry easily gave his trust to people, but that wasn't why he allowed himself to be at Meredith's house. It was something he couldn't fathom at the moment, and he was struck by how silly he was being by trying to think of a reason. He just knew he could trust her, without knowing why. Sometimes, that was enough. Even in this kind of world with its current dire circumstances. _It's enough._

He lifted his right foot, dropped it, and took another step, suddenly conscious of his actions, suddenly conscious of his current environment. He took in the warm atmosphere —the neutral beige wallpaper with its cool gloss of a blue, shading over it— mentally complimenting the tasteful, handpicked furniture. He looked back at Meredith, quickly remembering he had asked her something.

After hanging her coat and bending to reach her flip-flops, she finally responded, "My door usually needs a little more motivation before allowing itself to swing open." With her back still diagonal, she titled her head quizzically. "It's just odd," she added as an afterthought.

"You know, you remind me a lot of someone I know," Harry said aloud, suddenly. And when he realized what just happened, he was startled. He hadn't meant to say that; he hadn't meant to openly acknowledge that he was thinking of Hermione. Saying it audibly was definitely a concrete sign that reminded him how much he missed Hermione, and how much he wanted to see her.

Meredith laughed, a soft feminine sound, as she crossed the living room, passed the dining room, and stopped in front of a polished black shelf. "I get that a lot, actually. I mean, these past few days, people have been telling me that."

She reached for something, her hand hovering above her head; Harry's eyes focused on her. And that was when he saw the number of books lined up, definitely used, but treated with care. His eyes widened momentarily when he saw the distinct batch of spines he had come to memorize through constantly seeing them before the events of these last three years occurred.

They were all arranged in a single row, by various editions (first edition, second edition, Slughooks edition, Dummies edition), by various types of prints— hardbound, trade-paper, paperback. It was an exquisite collection which agonizingly forced him to remember Hermione; the memory of her face, her eyes shining with strong determination (when she learned a new edition was out, waiting for her patiently on the shelves), with keen delight (when she was finally grasping the book, holding it close to her chest), and with unwavering passion (when she was done reading it, treasuring each and every word), waiting for them outside of their dorms, a natural glow on her face, clearly excited to start her ranting.

Meredith made a soft triumphant noise, a short but effective crack through Hermione's smile in Harry's mind. "Found it."

"You're a witch?" were the first words that came out from Harry's mouth. _Great! So much for subtlety. _

All motions ceased; Meredith was as still as ice, her head turned at a sixty degree angle from the shelf's position, her right hand gripping a small, transparent kit which was labelled, "Paracetamol/Ibuprofen/Mefenemic".

Harry hadn't expected this to happen, this atmosphere to materialize. It was so silent, and so terrible, that he didn't know what to do. And so, with a skill he knew he was born with when it came to dealing with awkwardness— by only making things worse—he blurted, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't—I _wasn't_—"

Harry saw Meredith's head move, dropping, but, even though her head was turned at an angle, he couldn't gauge her reaction. And so, it surprised him, really, when he heard something so unexpected, something so entirely unanticipated instead.

_A-am I going insane?_ was Harry's last thoughts.


End file.
